The Long Hillside | Page 5

us. But he finally consented. However,
when Met, in a wild endeavor to get a shot at a stray partridge which
got up before us, missed the bird and let Uncle Limpy-Jack, at fifty
yards, have number-six pellets in the neck and shoulder, Peter's
delinquency was forgotten. The old man dropped his gun and yelled,
"Oh! Oh!" at the top of his voice. "Oh! I 'm dead, I 'm dead, I 'm dead."
He lay down on the ground and rolled.
Met was scared to death and we were all seriously frightened.
Limpy-Jack himself may have thought he was really killed. He
certainly made us think so. He would not let anyone look at the wound.
Only a few of the shot had gone in, and he was not seriously injured,
but he vowed that it was all done on purpose, and that he was "going
straight home and tell Marster," a threat he was only prevented from
executing by us all promising him the gold dollars which we should

find in the toes of our stockings next morning.

III
So far the day had been rather a failure; the misfortunes had exceeded
the sport; but as we reached the long hillside I have spoken of, the fun
began. The hares were sunning themselves comfortably in their beds,
and we had not gone more than two hundred yards before we had three
up, and cutting straight down the hill before us.
Bang!--bang!--bang!--bang! went the guns. One hare was knocked over,
and one boy also by the kick of his gun; the others were a sight chase,
and every boy, man, and dog joined in it for dear life.
"Whoop!--whoop! Dyah she go! Dyah she go! Heah, heah! Heah, heah!
Heah, heah, heah! Whoop, Rattler! Whoop, Nimrod! Heah, Snip! heah,
heah, Bruno! Heah, heah!" Everyone was striving to get ahead.
Both hares were picked up before reaching cover, one being caught by
Bruno, who was magnificent in a chase. After many falls and failures
by all of us, Saul flung himself on the other, and gave a wild yell of
triumph.
The "long hillside" was full of hares; they bounced out of the hen-grass;
slipped from brush-heaps and were run down, or by their speed and
agility escaped us all. The dogs got the frenzy and chased wildly,
sometimes running over them and losing them through a clever double
and dash. The old field rang with the chase until we turned our steps
toward home to get ready for the fun after dark.
We were crossing the pasture on our way home. The winter sunset sky
was glowing like burnished steel; the tops of the great clump of oaks
and hickories in which the house stood were all that we could see over
the far hill; a thin line of bluish smoke went straight up in the quiet air.
The dogs had gone on ahead, even the two or three old watch-dogs ran
after the others, with their noses in air.

The question of concealing Don and his ragged ears came up. It was
necessary to catch him and keep him from the house. We started up the
slope after him. As we climbed the hill we heard them.
"Dee got a ole hyah now; come on," exclaimed one or two of the
younger negroes; but old Limpy-Jack came to a halt, and turning his
head to one side listened.
"Heish! Dat ain' no ole hyah dey 're arter; dey 're arter Marster's
sheep--dat 's what 'tis!"
He started off at a rapid gait. We did the same.
"Yep, yep! Oun, oun, oun! Err, err, err!" came their voices in full cry.
We reached the top of the hill. Sure enough, there they were, the fat
Southdowns, tearing like mad across the field, the sound of their
trampling reaching us, with the entire pack at their heels, the pointers
well in the lead. Such a chase as we had trying to catch that pack of
mischievous dogs! Finally we got them in; but not before the whole
occurrence had been seen at the house.
The shouts that were borne to us, as rescuers began to troop across the
fields, drove our hearts down into our boots.
The return to the house was widely different from the triumph of the
out-going in the morning. It was a dejected cortege that wended its
toilsome way up the hill. Uncle Limpy-Jack basely deserted us after
getting the promise of our gold dollars, declaring that he "told dem
boys dat huntin' ole hyahs warn' no business for chillern!"
We knew that we had to "face the condign." There was no maudlin
sentiment in that region. Solomon was truly believed to have been the
wisest of men, and at least one of his decrees was still acted